


Cicero's Lament

by ERS220



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Crying, F/M, First Kiss, Late Night Conversations, Men Crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 21:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15872469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ERS220/pseuds/ERS220
Summary: The Dark Brotherhood's listener, Iliana Ashvanne, retells the beginning of a complicated relationship.





	Cicero's Lament

Late nights in the sanctuary were always the quietest times in my life. It seemed that the entire world hushed itself, leaving me alone with my thoughts and fears and whatever else it could muster. During the day, it was always filled with sound, whether it be the talking of my fellow brothers and sisters or the sound of metal being stricken by Arnbjorn’s hammer, but it all faded by the time the moon rose. I sat on the hard stone bed, thinking deeply of the events of the past few weeks. A calculated decision on my hand had caused me to be here, to be one with darkness itself. Even so, this group of fiends was a warmer welcome than anything else in my life thus far, warm enough to fool me into a sense of stability for even the shortest amount of time. Perhaps I was ignorant, or maybe just hopeful, but I was blinded by that feeling of belonging. I had taken that blade to a woman’s throat, and changed my life in the time it took to slice through the skin. 

My thoughts were hastily interrupted by a noise that broke through the silent air. My body froze as I listened carefully. It was, unfortunately, not coming from outside, but from within our dear home. A hasty pounding, hard against the stone walls, a slight twang of metal along with it. I looked out into the dim halls in front of me, my heart beginning to pound as the sound continued, faster and faster. I stood up and grabbed my malachite dagger, wrapping my fingers around the handle tightly as I began heading towards the sounds, they growing louder the closer I came to the stained glass mural to Sithis, a voice becoming recognizable. It was Cicero. He sounded to be in pain, and my pulse grew even faster at his groans and growls. I pulled my dagger out of its scabbard hastily and ran to the heavy iron door from which it all came from, pushing it with my entire body in a rush of adrenaline. 

I nearly fell over when the door finally creaked open. I caught myself on a wall close by, stopping to breathe for a moment before looking up. Cicero stood in place, staring at me with intense dismay lingering in his dark umber eyes. They were bloodshot and puffy, and tears were lingering within his lower lid. He quickly pulled his ebony dagger from its holder and brandished it at my face for a moment. He then blinked, realizing who I was. He reluctantly lowered the blade, but kept it in his hand. “What is it that you need, Listener?” he stuttered. Cicero’s voice was strained and shaky as if he had been crying, which it seemed he had been before I came in.  
“I heard a noise… I thought you were in danger,” I said quietly as I then examined the situation. The man was not wearing his leather gloves as usual. His hands were bare, and the skin on them was ripped and bloodied. I then looked to the walls. Spattered with his blood, trickling down the stone. His blood was not only on the walls. The floor, the Night Mother’s crypt, his clothes. I felt my heart sink at the sight. “What happened?” I asked.  


Cicero gritted his teeth into a pained grin. “Nothing, listener...” he said. “...nothing as always. It’s always nothing!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking as he began to sob. Never before had I seen the man so vulnerable, so broken as I was. Gingerly, I approached him, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. He pointed his blade at me, his face twisting in animosity. “Don’t touch me, wench!” he screeched. His voice was filled with utter resent and a twinge of familiar pain. Intense, unbearable anger and agony. The type of pain that permeated my soul deep within. The very pain that drove me to kill. His hand began to shake, and he dropped the dagger and lowered his hand before he began to wail once more, digging his face into his hand, the blood now dried and sticky. A few minutes passed, the only sound in the world seeming to be his cries. He pulled his head from his pale hands, looking at me as tears rolled down his cheeks.  


“Don’t pretend you care about Cicero,” he began, his brow furrowing. “Nobody cares about me. Nobody! Cicero is nothing to anyone. Not even sweet night mother cares. He is just a play thing! A laughingstock! Waste of flesh and blood!” he yelled into my face. I cowered as I felt his breath hit my face. It was instinctual from my past, in which a yell had almost always preceded a fist to my head. He crouched to my level, waiting for me to look back up. I did so reluctantly, once again looking into his glazed eyes.  


“Cicero, I do care about you,” I sputtered out. “You are the keeper. You are extremely important to the family, the Night Mother and Sithis himself. Would the Night Mother be here now without you? Our mother? No. The others may spite you, but they don’t understand. Hell, they barely understand what the Night Mother tells me...” I said, thinking. Before I had become a sister, I obsessed over learning everything I could about the Brotherhood, and came upon books upon books written about it and its rules and rituals. The five tenets were ingrained into my head by the time I murdered Grelod the Kind, and I knew that the Night Mother’s words were above all else. “...You were the first person to accompany me on a contract, even when Astrid forbade it. The Night Mother herself told me I needed to be accompanied. You listened to us both. You respected us both. I would have died without you,” I muttered. He seemed confused at my words, but everything I had said was true. We sat for a moment, silent as he looked at me. As he thought, I saw his face lighten from the tight expression he held before. Cicero looked to the ground at the blood he had spilled, and then back to me. “...the listener is right. Foolish Cicero should have never doubted you,” he whispered. “But even so, I am still worthless. As are you. To them, we are nothing.”

“Cicero...” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. He placed a finger on my lips, silencing me. “Do you not understand? We are nothing. Cicero and the listener are nothing but expendable! The harlot Astrid does not respect the listener, nor does she Cicero,” he said, his voice’s pitch lowering. My mind began to race. Anxiety was filling my head, and I began to sweat. As I said, I had been blinded by the illusion of warmth and belonging, and failed to see the truth. But I knew he was right. The man suddenly smiled, despite a few more tears falling from his eyes. He began to laugh. That damned, twisted laugh. Cicero then grabbed my shoulders. “The keeper and the listener! Oh, yes, yes!” he said, his smile growing bigger. “Us, together...” he grabbed my small, pale hand with both of his, holding it tightly. I stared into his eyes, my breathing becoming heavy. The anxiety in my body was turning to a different feeling, a warm feeling. Not the warmth I had felt when I became part of the family. Oh, no. This was more than that. This was a fire within. Instinct was telling me to get closer, and I did. I brought my face to his. My heart throbbed. He then pressed his lips against mine, and I melted into it. This was only the beginning of us. The beginning of the keeper and the listener, intertwined under Sithis’ shadowy gaze.


End file.
